Rabbi Heller's Blog

Our Jewish world is reeling from the news last night of the murder of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim, two staffers of the Israeli Embassy in Washington DC, shot just outside the Capital Jewish Museum. First and foremost, we offer our sympathy to their loved ones, to their colleagues in the Israeli consular corps, and to our entire Jewish world. But even more so, we struggle with what these events mean for us, and how our tradition provides direction at this moment.

As we seek wisdom from our tradition, we can look to the words of this week’s second portion, Behukotai, which includes a lengthy passage of blessings and curses. It describes a world in which Jews are subject to hate and disdain in their exile. Among the worst things that can happen is found in Leviticus 26:36: “You will be chased by the sound of a driven leaf.” In this verse, the sound of a driven leaf is a noise with barely the faintest of substance, and yet it harms an entire nation. While any country in the world is subject to criticism, at this moment, Israel and those who stand with her are subject to propaganda, like accusations of genocide that far exceed any legitimate or reasonable critique. Lischinsky’s last social media post was a critique of an NBC news post (since retracted) that claimed that 14,000 Palestinian children would die today. This type of inflammatory language, which reverberates so loudly at this moment, is the direct cause of these murders.

The verse from Leviticus continues, “And you shall flee like who flees from a sword, though no one is pursuing you.” There are two ways to interpret these words. The common, plain sense explanation is that the verse refers to the ways that one might harm one’s self through paranoia, tripping over one’s fear of the non-existent. However, a contemporary teacher, Rabbi Mordechai Kaminetsky, suggests another view. He suggests that an even greater affliction is when one is in a fight, or flight, for one’s very life, and the world says “no one is pursuing you.” That is the state in which we find ourselves at this moment. On top of the injury of these murders, there is insult as well: the gaslighting claim that this language is not harmful to innocent Jews around the world, and that anti-zionism is a movement separate from anti-semitism.

The assailant, who had previously been involved in Palestinian activism, told eyewitnesses that he “did it for Gaza.” This murder of two Jews was cloaked in the language of anti-zionism, but the attack took place at a Jewish museum, and ironically the event for young Jewish professionals, sponsored by AJC Access, showcased representatives of organizations involved in bringing humanitarian aid to Gaza. While opposing the very right of Israel to exist is in and of itself racist, many claim that anti-zionism is a political or liberation movement, having nothing to do with the hatred of Jews. We are reminded today that those claims are false, and those hatreds are inseparable. One cannot hate one without hating the other. One cannot hate or attack Israel without hating Jews for being who they are. Whatever disagreements we may have within our Jewish family, we are inextricably linked.

As a particular irony, the two victims, one of them an American Jew from Kansas, the other a German/Israeli Jew by birth who practiced Christianity, were active in peace building. Milgrim had been an employee of an organization called Tech2Peace, which “provides high-tech and entrepreneurial training alongside conflict dialogue to young Palestinians and Israelis.” Lishinsky had been an advocate for “interfaith dialogue and intercultural understanding.” The murderer removed from the world two people who, if they had lived, might have been partners for the real advancement of those he claimed to be fighting for. 

The Israeli Ambassador to the US, Yehiel Leiter, (who had been scheduled to visit our community next week) reported that the two victims had planned to get engaged next week in Israel. Those words bring back personal memories for me of my friends, Matt Eisenfeld and Sara Duker, who were murdered on their way to celebrate their engagement, when 29 years ago a Hamas member took their lives in a bus bombing. Their murder was carried out under the banner of “intifada.” Back then intifada came to include in its definition the indiscriminate murder of Jews in the name of a movement. Today when people advocate to “globalize the intifada,” those are not idle words. They imply an intent to bring the same murder to us, to every corner of the globe.

Fortunately, the words of Behukotai have not been totally fulfilled. Unlike our ancestors who experienced the curses of this week’s portion, we have the opportunity to stand strong and defend ourselves. We hear the sound of the crinkling leaf, but we need not run. Furthermore, we are fortunate that we are not alone. We have many friends and allies who have stepped up to show sympathy and support, who understand the true nature of the attacks against us, and the harm that propaganda and hatred pose to us and to our society. This section of the Torah ends with the promise that, even when we are in exile, God will not reject us, and that in the scope of history, times of suffering must come to an end, when the sound of a driven leaf is replaced by the sound of peace, and there is truly none to pursue.